Witch Hunt

by Cate Conte

  “Do you know what time she closed up shop yesterday?” I asked.

  Charlie thought. “Not really sure, to be honest. I know she was gone when I left. It was a slow day so I went over t’ your boyfriend’s place.”

  He’d been to the bar? “You did? Did you talk to Todd?”

  He shook his head, but didn’t elaborate.

  “What time did you go over there?”

  Charlie grabbed a broom that rested against the wall and began sweeping up some stray hair left over from a cut. “Dunno. Sometime around four, probably.”

  “You saw Todd?”

  “Yup.”

  “Was he . . . alone?”

  Charlie stared at me. “He was workin’. There were other people workin’ too, so I guess he wasn’t alone.”

  Not what I meant, but I let it go. “And Syd was already gone?”

  “Think so.”

  “Did she mention she had plans last night?” I asked.

  Charlie stopped sweeping and used his palms to anchor the broom handle, casually leaning on it. The door banged open, and a UPS guy came in, huffing a bit, and dropped a giant box. “Here you go, Mr. Klein. That’s a heavy one. Want me to put it somewhere else?”

  “Nah, leave it, young man. I’ll get it,” Charlie said.

  The guy waved and left, letting the door bang again behind him.

  Charlie shook his head. “So noisy. My ma woulda belted me if I let doors slam like that. Now. I’m not Miss Sydney’s social director, Miss Violet. There something you want to be asking her instead of me?”

  I flushed. “I guess. Once I find her.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be around soon. You’re welcome to wait,” he said, shrugging. “Now. You done grillin’ me so I can ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who was that lady with you this mornin’? She was a looker.” He nodded approvingly.

  I took a deep breath, weighing my response. Finally I figured, what the heck? “That was my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Charlie’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Well, then, girlie, you have some good genes.”

  “Watch it, Charlie.” I was in no mood to hear about how sexy my mother was. All Charlie needed to know was that he wasn’t her type.

  He held up his hands defensively. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for admiring the ladies. I’ve been widowed for a long time, but I’m not dead yet.”

  “I know, I know. Sorry,” I said, remembering that he could be useful as far as information gathering went. I glanced around the barbershop. There was one other person working at the far end of the room, a guy nearly as old as Charlie. He and his client, a middle-aged guy getting a shave, were engrossed in conversation.

  “She new to town?”

  I nodded. “Just visiting.” I hoped.

  “Ah. Well, sorry to bring up the murder in front of her. She’ll probably be wondering if this is a proper place for her little girl.”

  “Yeah. Speaking of... that, have you heard anything?” I asked.

  Charlie shrugged. “Like what?”

  “Like any progress on the investigation?”

  “Now how would I know that, Miss Violet?” He laughed. “The cops aren’t down here telling me anything.”

  “Come on, Charlie. You get around,” I said.

  “What, you think I’m a tip line or something?”

  “No, but you hear everything in here,” I said. “I know she had a reputation around town. People have to be talking about who would’ve gone as far as killing her?”

  He studied me, those watery eyes sharp and alert. I got the sense that Charlie didn’t miss a trick. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”

  It was only a matter of time before people found out I’d been questioned. I was actually surprised Charlie hadn’t heard yet. Or maybe he had, and wanted to see what I’d say. “The police are asking me questions. They think I did it.”

  He stared at me for a second then burst out laughing. “You? Are ya kidding?”

  “No, but . . . why is that funny?”

  He waved a hand as if I were a gnat flying around his head. “You’re a good girl, Miss Violet. Everyone knows that.”

  “Not everyone,” I said. My throat was choking with tears again.

  “Eh.” Charlie gave another wave of his hand. “They’re just grasping. Not sure where to start. Why they didn’t have that fella she works with down there straightaway I can’t guess.”

  “Andrew?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “They did question him. Natalie told me.” This was the second time he’d mentioned Andrew. Did Charlie know something? “Why?” I prompted. “Other than the business-partner angle, of course. Did they not get along?”

  Charlie thought before he answered, grizzled fingers playing with the strings on the apron he wore. “They tolerated each other because there was money to be made. But I heard there was trouble in paradise over there lately. Fights and the like.”

  “Over what?”

  “Not sure, really,” he said. “I get my information from my clients. Sometimes it’s accurate, sometimes . . .” He tilted his hand from side to side. “But I’m sure the fighting part is true. I can’t imagine having to spend any time around that one without wanting to kill her, whether ya could actually do it or not.”

  It was an interesting answer. I wondered if there was more to the Charlie/Carla disagreement than Syd’s house in his parking lot. I decided to ask.

  He was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. “Nah. Just don’t like her politics and her idea that she was the only one knows what’s good for this town.” He puffed his chest out a bit. “We were here long before her and we’ll be here long after her. In the end, she really didn’t know what was best for any of us.”

  He bent down and hoisted up the box the UPS guy had left, seemingly effortlessly, and disappeared out back.

  CHAPTER 34

  Charlie’s words played in my head as I stepped outside. I’d known from Syd he didn’t love Carla, but his animosity toward her seemed to run deeper than a parking lot clash. I made a mental note to ask around. Although at this point I wasn’t sure who to ask. I wondered if Charlie knew Rain too. I was dying to know the real story about this guy.

  I tried Syd’s shop door again in case she’d snuck in while I’d been occupied, but it was still locked. Frustrated, I turned to go. But when I walked around the side of the house, I remembered the back door, and how Sydney told me once that she left it unlocked during the day because she was terrible at remembering her keys when she ran out, and because it faced Charlie’s shop, she didn’t worry too much about people just walking in.

  I went over and climbed the two steps, twisting the knob. It opened.

  I looked around again to see if Charlie was watching me from his window, but I didn’t see anyone. So much for Syd’s theory there. I could just go in and wait for her. I didn’t really want to go back to the shop right now anyway. I had no idea what to say to Josie, and I didn’t even think I wanted to talk about any of it at this point.

  Decision made, I pushed the door open and poked my head in. “Syd?” I called.

  Nothing.

  I stepped inside. I was in the accessory room. This little house was actually really cute. I wandered through, enjoying being in there with no customers so I could get a feel for it. I tried to imagine Monty and me living in one, able to move around wherever we wanted. Although we’d need a truck or something to tow it, and I wouldn’t have the first clue how to deal with that—and logistics like that didn’t sound terribly appealing.

  I went into the main room and browsed through some of the merchandise, eyeing an ornate gold necklace with a gorgeous turquoise stone in the center. I made a note to ask Syd about it—if it was authentic, where she’d found it. Then I went into the little space Syd used as her office and sank down into her chair. She wouldn’t mind if I waited in here. I hoped. Plus, I needed some quiet time where no one knew how to find me.
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  I checked to see if she’d texted me back—she hadn’t—and put my cell phone on do-not-disturb. I sat back in her desk chair, closing my eyes, willing my brain to sort out some of the information overload that had come in over the past fourteen or so hours. Had it really only been that long since my entire world flipped?

  First, Carla’s murder. That was my biggest problem right now, family drama aside. When I stopped and got really quiet, I still had a hard time reconciling the woman shouting at me in the café and the image of a lifeless body lying in a courtyard. I don’t think I’d actually processed the fact that she was gone. And that someone had killed her. Strangled, I would venture to guess, even though the police didn’t specifically say that. How else would my scarf have been so incriminating? I made a mental note to see if I could get confirmed information out of Gabe. It seemed like he was kind of on my side, anyway.

  So I was an obvious person to home in on because we’d had such a public . . . discussion. But I had no doubts I was one of many who could be asked the question.

  The cops had spoken to Andrew. Not surprising. They’d have wanted to know if Carla had been in the office most of the day, who she’d spoken to, who she had appointments with. Maybe there was someone she’d been showing properties to who had been angry with her about something. Like they hadn’t gotten preapproved for enough money to buy the fancy house they wanted. Not that it would be her fault, but you never knew how crazy people could get when they wanted something. Especially if she’d promised it to them.

  I wondered if Andrew would talk to me. He didn’t know me that well, but he knew I was Nat’s friend. Maybe I could go see him and position it as, we both got questioned about this, we need to put our heads together and really think of some possibilities here. Maybe Andrew would remember something else as the shock wore off. And he had to be just as invested as I was in finding out who killed his business partner.

  Buoyed by the idea of action, I looked around for a piece of paper so I could write down the questions I wanted to ask Andrew. But Syd’s desk was a heck of a lot neater than her apartment, and there wasn’t much on her desk, aside from her monitor, keyboard, and a mouse sitting on a mouse pad with her shop logo on it. A mug holding some pens. A stack of mail, neatly sliced open in the same place with an opener. Whatever correspondence was in them had been tucked back neatly into the envelopes. A couple of pictures of Presley, one of her on a swing in the midst of its flight, her long blond hair flying behind her, the other of her hugging a big black dog.

  There was also a planner. Maybe that would tell me where she was and when she was returning. I flipped it open, ignoring the guilty feeling tugging at my brain. I didn’t usually snoop through my friend’s things. But technically, I was just looking for a piece of paper and a sense of when she was coming back, since she hadn’t answered my text. So I wasn’t really snooping.

  I opened the planner to today’s page. The only notation was a diagonal scroll from twelve thirty to approximately two that said simply, Lunch.

  I glanced at my phone. It was only one fifteen. I flipped to yesterday’s page. Same notation, same amount of time. No way to know if she actually had a lunch meeting, or if she just noted the time as personal time. No other appointments yesterday. Like the paint party at Anna’s that I now knew she hadn’t gone to. Or a clandestine meeting with Rain.

  Hissing out a frustrated sigh, I opened the top drawer of Syd’s little desk. A jumble of paperclips, rubber bands, old receipts, pens. Now this was more like the Sydney I knew. Also, I didn’t want to put my hand in there for fear something would bite me. Knowing Syd, it hadn’t been cleaned out since, well, ever.

  I went to the next, larger drawer. It was full of order slips, invoices, and other paperwork. Not much else that I could see, and I didn’t want to go digging any more than I already was. I went to the other set of drawers—was it really this hard to find a Post-it note?—and opened the top drawer. It was filled with candy, almost to the brim. A virtual trick-or-treat drawer. Thinking of my own misplaced Lindt truffles, I scored a mini Milky Way bar, grabbed a small box of Milk Duds for later, and moved on.

  The bottom drawer had, finally, a pad of paper. There was writing on the top couple of sheets. I pulled it out and flipped to an empty page, tearing it at the top-line perforation, then shoved the pad back into its place. I put the paper on the desk and reached for a pen. When I did, I inadvertently hit the mouse and the computer screen flickered and came to life.

  I glanced at it, then did a double take.

  It was Syd’s Facebook page. Which was not strange—Syd was really into social media. I remembered her telling me recently about how she was using Instagram as her main platform for her business these days, and how I should be using it more. Instagram stories, specifically. And how Facebook was a necessary evil—people looked for your presence on there, even if it wasn’t attracting the same followers as Instagram.

  In any event, this looked like her personal page. Which wasn’t enough on its own to catch my eye. We were friends on Facebook, so I saw her stuff all the time—photos of Presley, status updates about her meals, and posts about new items at her shop that she could cross-post on her business page.

  It wasn’t any of that catching my eye. It was the message that bloomed at the bottom of the screen that almost gave me a heart attack.

  I told you to stay away from my family. If the cease and desist wasn’t enough, I can go further. If you want to speak, I’ll see you at five forty-five.

  The sender was Carla Fernandez.

  It had been sent yesterday at 4:13 p.m. Syd had read the message but hadn’t responded. And she’d left it up, as if she’d left in a rush after receiving it. I remembered what Charlie said, that Syd hadn’t been in yet today and that she’d left early yesterday. But I’d seen her twice since then. Last night, which was anything but normal, and this morning, when she’d seemed perfectly normal. Aside from the not-knowing-when-she’d-moved thing.

  I stared at the words, willing them to make more sense in my brain. With a shaking hand, I scrolled up to see the rest of the thread. As if it weren’t enough that they were communicating at all, I got another shock when I realized this had been going on for a couple of months. Short, cryptic messages on both sides, beginning back around Thanksgiving.

  From Syd: You have no right to treat me this way. What you’re doing is unfair and probably against the law.

  From Carla, a few days later: I’m telling you for your own good. Do not contact me again, or you’ll regret it.

  Then a few weeks ago from Syd: Hopefully this changes something. I’ll wait for you to tell me when we can speak.

  The last one, before Carla’s message yesterday. What was she hoping changed something? I scrolled back down to the bottom, reading the new message again. Syd hadn’t answered her, but maybe that was on purpose. The police had specifically asked me where I’d been between five thirty and six. But it looked like Carla had another appointment during that time. And if they were checking Carla’s social media feeds, it wouldn’t be long before they found this message.

  And if Syd had met her, it was right smack during the time when they seemed to think she’d been killed.

  CHAPTER 35

  This was crazy. My best friend wasn’t a killer. This was some weird coincidence that they were supposed to meet. It was probably just a thing about her shop, and I was blowing it all out of proportion.

  I checked my phone again. Sydney hadn’t texted me back. I couldn’t sit in here forever. Plus, I didn’t want her to know I’d seen this until I could make some sense of it. I pulled my coat back on and hurried out the back door the way I’d come.

  And almost ran right into Charlie, who was on his way up the steps.

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Miss Violet. I thought you left,” he said.

  “No, I . . . I was going to wait for Syd, but I haven’t heard from her,” I said, turning sideways so I could slip past him. “And I have to get back to my shop
.”

  He nodded, still looking at me curiously. “She called and asked me to lock up for her. She won’t be back today.”

  “Oh. Well then, it’s good I’m leaving.” I forced a smile. I didn’t want to get into it with Charlie. “See you,” I said, and fled out of the parking lot.

  I turned the corner into the alley that would take me back to my street and stopped to lean against the building, letting my breath out in a whoosh. Why was Carla messaging Sydney? What family was she supposed to stay away from?

  And where the heck was Sydney, anyway? I thought about going to her house and demanding answers, but thanks to my mother, I didn’t even know where she lived at this point. I was out of luck. Which seemed to be my current state of existence.

  Frustrated, I started back toward the shop. But I wasn’t in the mood to go back, which wasn’t like me at all. Usually there was no place I’d rather be. Today, to be in there pretending to hold the key to other people’s problems—well, I felt like a fake. I didn’t have a good handle on my own problems.

  I pulled out my phone to text Josie and ask her to cancel my afternoon appointments and realized I had a voice mail. Todd. Finally. I felt a rush of relief and pressed play.

  “Vi. Listen, I’m sorry about last night.” His voice sounded distant, far away. “I didn’t mean to upset you. And hey, is that really your mother? It’s another crazy day at the bar, but maybe we can talk tonight.” A pause, like he didn’t know what to say. Then, “Call me later.”

  Not exactly what I wanted to hear. He hadn’t said much of anything. Didn’t even ask if I was okay, after everything that happened. I felt angry tears sting my eyes and furiously blinked them away. I’d be darned if I was going to cry over this. Over any of it. I had things to do. Like clear my name. And possibly Sydney’s.

  And I needed to start with Andrew Mann.

  * * *

  North Harbor Realty’s office was located in one of the oldest buildings in town. It was also one of the most expensive buildings to lease, which I’m sure was the point. I texted Josie as I walked the short distance to the office, then put my phone away and stepped into the lobby, scanning the directory. Fourth floor. The only business listed.